


The Three of Swords

by schrodanger



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bisexual Solas, Canon Divergence, Dragon Age Spoilers, F/F, M/M, Mental Illness, Other, PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4678592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schrodanger/pseuds/schrodanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of a Dalish herald and her lost brother. || This story follows the general plot of Inquisition, but moves at its own pace, isn't a playthrough rewrite, and diverges from certain canon events in the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Inquisitor,” rang a voice from across the library. Inquisitor....still a title Seldras wasn't used to, like “Herald” or “Andraste's chosen” or “rabbit.” She doubted she would ever get used to any of them, but she was growing more accustomed to recognizing “Inquisitor” as her “other name.”

Leliana stepped across the library in broad, urgent strides, looking flustered – unusual for someone of her composure. “There is a situation.”

Seldras looked up from her book on Medical Herbology and marked her place before turning to Leliana. “Sounds serious,” she replied in a inappropriately lighthearted tone. “Is Corypheus throwing a tantrum over his lost demon army on our doorstep now?”

Leliana's severe expression faltered for a moment – a concealed grin of amusement. “No, nothing like that.”

She inclined her head towards an isolated part of the library. Seldras followed with an arched eyebrow. What was this about?

Leliana kept her voice dropped, regardless of the fact that the library's usual denizens were off eating lunch in the Great Hall.

“A mage has approached the Inquisition,” she began. “He approached a camp in the Hinterlands and surrendered his staff to the guards.”

Just a mage? thought Seldras. And one willing to cooperate, considering he'd relinquished his staff and submitted himself to a scouting party that served a Chantry-inspired organization. It sounded almost like what Seldras had read of Leliana's notes on Solas.

“So, another recruit? Give him a pat on the back and some new robes, a welcome speech, the whole she-bang. Isn't this more of Cullen's area of expertise?”

“Normally, yes.” Leliana folded her hands behind her back, brow furrowing. “This man claims to know you. And yes, I am aware that many have grabbed at power by throwing around your name, but...he says he is your brother.”

Up until the word “brother” had been said, Seldras found the conversation quite amusing. Once, a human from the Free Marches had claimed to have had familial ties to Clan Lavellan in a poorly executed attempt at getting special attention from the Inquisitor. A human with blood-ties to Clan Lavellan? That had been a riot. But this? Seldras felt the color draining from her face.

_Her brother?_

“I don't think that's possible,” replied Seldras stiffly. Suddenly the floor seemed to be moving back and forth. She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a shaky sigh.

“My agents and I thought it a farce, but the more we questioned him...”

“My brother was expelled from Clan Lavellan when he was very young. A Third mage. We Dalish have...limits on that. No one nearby could take him in, so they left him. The Clan was in Ferelden at the time. Winter. Him, alone. He can't have survived.” Seldras's responses were clipped, but not out of anger....out of fear. Her voice was shaking, much to her dismay, and she felt as if she was going to be sick. She had tried so very hard to bury that memory, to snuff it, to drown out her own screams as scouts took the quiet waif of a boy away to become lost in the wilderness....

“He could not have lived through that,” Seldras murmured quietly, more to herself than Leliana. “And the clan is gone.”

“I see.” Leliana made a motion as if to touch the Inquisitor's shoulder, but faltered. “The man wishes to meet you.”

Seldras felt anger bubbling up in her chest. “Tell him to fuck off,” she spat. “I will not....no, get him out. I w-will not insult Haril's memory by humoring some backwater shit-stain.”

“Haril?”

“Haril. That was his name. My brother.”

“That is the elf's name. The one who wishes to meet you.”

Her muscles turned rigid, heart hammering in her chest. No.....an impostor perhaps? But how? How could anyone know that name, a name lost in the snow, dead to Clan Lavellan? Could he have....? No. No, he _couldn't_....

Before her mind could process a rational response, she blurted out words that felt foreign on her tongue. “Take me to him.”

Leliana dipped her head. “Of course. He is in the holding cells-”

“The cells?”

“He reacted.... _poorly_ when our Templars attempted to search him for weapons or poisons.”

Seldras bit her bottom lip.

They made their way down the library steps, past the rotunda. Solas glanced up, eyebrow slightly raised in curiosity. Seldras gave him a brief acknowledging glance. She must have looked horrified, because he straightened in concern. Before he could inquire, Seldras was following Leliana through the winding, dank halls leading to the dungeon. Her brain buzzed with repressed anxiety. A million thoughts raced through her mind, but none of them were able to find footing save for a single word: brother.

The dungeon was poorly lit, as Seldras assumed it usually was. She was rarely brought down here in person. It was a dark and miserable place, chilly and damp from the cracks in the crumbling stone walls of lower Skyhold. The frigid drafts immediately bit through her jerkin, angering the permanent ache in her joints.

Four guards stood watch over a single cell. Templars. Leliana gestured at the shadow in the cell.

Seldras stepped forward, barely able to breathe, and peered into the cell.

The torch lights did little more to reveal him, but as Seldras's eyesight began to adjust, features began to carve themselves into the shapeless shadow. A thin elf with in shabby robes sat on his knees in the cell, staring at the hay floor. His hands were shackled with a glowing, enchanted metal, likely to prevent him from using magic against his captors.

Her throat felt dry and she almost coughed when she spoke to him. “Who are you, apostate?”

He looked up sluggishly. A single eye glowed a dull blue at her in the darkness. He stared at her for several moments, shuffling to his feet and leaning against the wall for support before moving into the firelight.

The light fell on a ghostly pale, scarred face framed with disheveled blonde hair. The right side of his face was covered in a blood-caked bandage and numerous deep scars. He met Seldras's wide-eyed gaze and his lips parted. His good eye glossed over with unshed tears.

Seldras felt her knees give out beneath her.

_“I'll be okay, Sel. I promise. You will keep me safe.” Shaking hands showed her a small wolf carving – hers, carved by a learning but loving hand, now his._

_“Mamae! MAMAE!” She won't let go. Why won't she let go? They're taking him, they're taking him away...why?_

_Screams for Mother were answered with silence....silence, a steadfast companion._

Seldras cupped a shaking hand over her mouth and stared up at him. “Mythal'enaste,” she choked, “Haril?”

His face twisted into...a grimace? No, not a grimace. A smile. A single tear trailed down his freckled cheek as he answered her, voice raspy and worn, but unmistakably familiar.

His voice.

“Savhalla, sister.”

\- - -

**NOTES:**

Mamae, as you can guess, means "mother."

Savhalla essentially means "greetings."

You can find this chapter on Tumblr [here](http://schrodanger.tumblr.com/post/127822844102/i-a-beginning).

For a visual reference, you can find pictures of Seldras [here](http://schrodanger.tumblr.com/tagged/seldras%20lavellan) and Haril (who will become known as Declan) [here](http://schrodanger.tumblr.com/tagged/declan%20lavellan). 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reminiscing on a gift...and a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heavy chapter that I had to get down this morning. It may be edited in places later, but not in any big way.  
> Translations / other stuff at the end. I'm super excited about the Trespasser DLC, but I'm gonna keep on with this story. It's been in my head for months and I need to get it down.

“Savh, Haril!” called a tiny voice. A Dalish girl no older than five years of age waddled across the camp. She wore a mischievous grin and held her hands behind her back. What was she up to now?

He looked away from the outward-facing Fen'harel statue and glanced at her. The boy tilted his head and sighed.

“What, Sel?”

“Don't be grumpy! I got you somethin'! For your BIRTHDAY!”

He suppressed a small grin. He'd turned eight several months ago, and of course she'd already gotten him a gift – a painted rock. Simple and silly, but he treasured it. He'd received few other gifts that day. From keeper Istimaethoriel he received a beautiful satchel and a uncharacteristically sad smile; from his mother he'd received a warm hug and a blank journal for his studies with the Keeper, which he hoped would begin soon; from his father, an stiff pat on the shoulder and a sweet pastry from the city. He wondered vaguely why they had all seemed so solemn... excluding Seldras and his father.

His father was always solemn around him. Sometimes, late at night when they thought he couldn't hear them, he would hear mamae and papae arguing. The words “flat-ear” and “bastard” came up often, along with his name. He didn't know what those words meant, but they were always spoken in a toxic tone of voice that made him vanish beneath his blankets in fear.

“HAAAAARIL!”

“Huh?”

“Pay attention!” Seldras poked out her bottom lip.

“Yes, hahren,” he teased.

“Close your eyes!”

“Seriously?”

“Close 'em, or no present.”

He let out an overly dramatic sigh and followed his sister's command.

“Now, hands out. No peaking.”

“Alright, hands out. I'm not peaking, promise.” He heard Seldras shuffling around him, probably to make sure he was telling the truth. She dropped something rough and small in his hand. Another rock, perhaps?

“Aaaaand, open!”

He blinked down and turned the object over in his hands. It was a small, awkward wooden carving of a wolf. Seldras had always had a talent for wood-carving. She still had much to learn, of course, but for someone of her age she was quite skillful with the knife.

He examined the wolf closely. The ears were crooked and one eye was larger than the other. He was pretty sure wolves had more toes than that as well. All in all, it looked rather silly.

He smiled. It was perfect.

“Da'fen, just for you!”

He squeezed it tightly. Several members of the clan had always taken his admiration of wolves as an ill omen, sure to draw the Dread Wolf's attention. Seldras clearly did not share this view.

“I love it, Sel. Ma serannas.”

Seldras place her hands on her hips proudly. “I made it myself, so you better not lose it!”

“I won't. Promise.”

\- - -

It was only a month later that he found himself clutching the wolf as tightly as he had when it first touched his fingers. This time, Seldras was being held back by their mother, sobbing loudly and yelling his name. Two hunters guided him away from the camp. Tears fell silently down his face, worsening the bite of the harsh winter chill on his skin.

The Third, they had called him. A danger to the clan, one mage too many. He didn't understand...what was so dangerous about being able to stoke the campfire and help the hunters chill meat for the winter? Why was this happening? Had he done something wrong?

“ _I'm so sorry, da'len.”_

“ _You are strong, da'vhenan. You will endure. You....Mythal'enaste....” A choked sob. “Please be safe, please.”_

“ _It is a great burden, but you are an intelligent young man. You will carry your magic well.”_

“ _With a flat-earred peddler...dreams of the Dread Wolf at night....your fault...bastard....”_

“ _Elgar'nan, Sahle, he's your son! That is all that should matter!”_

He squeezed his eyes shut as they took him further from the camp. Even though they were already at the outskirts of the camp, where he could no longer see his family, he could still hear her screaming.

“Haril! Haril! Mamae, tell them to stop! Mamae! MAMAE!”

He gave his home at last, tear-blurred glance before facing away, never daring to look back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da'fen - Little wolf.  
> Da'vhenan - Little heart. (Da generally means little, if you haven't caught on.)  
> Mamae / papae - Mother / father


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor is reunited with her brother, who now goes by the name "Declan." Declan is in turn reunited with the last person he expects to find serving the Inquisition - an apostate named Solas. Subject to light editing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to churn out and if it sounds forced I apologize. Between writer's block, the release of Trespasser, and my general dislike for this chapter, it took me longer than I anticipated.  
> Trespasser was a kick in the gut but I plan to continue this story as long as possible. If anything, Trespasser has given me inspiration for a "sequel" to this story when I get finished with it....but I'm getting way ahead of myself. Thank you for reading. <3

“Get him out."  


The barked order caused one of the guards to jump. Very rarely was the Inquisitor's tone so harsh.

Seldras forced herself to stand and jabbed at finger at the cell, hands trembling. “Now.”

“Right away ser.”

“And get those....” She stared at the glowing shackles on his wrists. “...those things off of him.”

“Yes, of course, Inquisitor.”

The moment the shackles fell loudly to the floor, her arms were around him. He flinched and turned rigid at her touch, but slowly relaxed. Shivering arms tentatively returned the embrace. She could feel his ribcage through his tattered robes, and in spite of the chill of the dungeons he felt very warm. Creators...what had happened to him?

“It's so good to see you, Haril,” Seldras mumbled in a choked voice as she pulled away. She quickly rubbed the tears from her eyes.

Likewise, her brother turned his head and wiped the side of his face that wasn't covered in bandages. “... _Declan_ , please.”

“I'm sorry?”

“I don't go by that name anymore. Call me Declan.”

The barely masked bitterness in his voice caused Seldras's stomach to sink. “Declan,” she repeated, the foreign name thick and clumsy on her tongue. “I'll try to remember it.”

\- - -

Seldras tried not to stare at Declan as he wolfed down the light meal the kitchen staff had prepared for him. It was only soup, bread, and fruit juice – the fancy, rich platters of food she wanted to offer him would probably make him sick in his malnourished state.

They were in Seldras's quarters for the time being. Soldiers were already clearing out one of the many unused rooms in Skyhold. Unfortunately it was one along the outer walls where the draft was the worse, but Cullen had informed her that it came with a small fireplace and intact windows.

After finishing his meal, Declan leaned back in his chair and sighed. He sized up his surroundings and scratched his freckled, grime-caked cheeks.

“They spare no expense in this Inquisition, do they?”

“They overdo it sometimes.”

The awkward silence between their one-sentence conversations was beginning to put Seldras on edge, but what else could she expect? They hadn't seen each other in years. All this time she had thought him dead, yet here he was, sitting in front of her. She knew it was him, but the years had changed him drastically. The Fereldan accent, the odd name, the battered body, the submissive slouch....

“You still make those.” A raspy chuckle interrupted her thoughts. He was admiring the wooden animal carvings on the mantelpiece.

“Oh....yeah. Helps keep me sane on most days.”

Declan's lopsided smile widened. “I still have it.”

Seldras tilted her head. “Still have what?”

He held up a finger and began rummaging through his pockets.

“Aha, there you are.” He held out his hand.

A wooden carving of a wolf sat in his palm. It was worn around the edges and done by someone with little experience or care for what a wolf actually looked like. Lopsided ears, mismatched eyes.....

“Wait. That's...Holy shit!” Seldras pressed her hand against her forehead and let out a half-choked laugh. “Creators, you kept that ugly thing?”

“S'not ugly,” Declan pouted.

“It really is.” In spite of her laughing, Seldras found a lump forming in her throat. Seldras pursed her lips and looked away. Her reluctance to face him was not due to his disfigurement....no. It was the shame, the guilt. If not for her clan...

“Look, I'm sorry about-”

“Sis, don't.”

“Just let me finish!”

“No. I know what you're going to say, and I don't want the pity party. They banished me. Not you. I remember. You and mother were the only ones who gave a shit. It's not your place to apologize.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway....how's mum?”

Seldras closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting back the tears burning in her eyes.

He still didn't know. Another thing to regret.

Her silence told him all he needed to know. He let out a shaky, tight breath.

“Everything is shit,” croaked Seldras. “I'm sorry.”

“I expected it.” He frowned and chewed on his bottom lip. Like his sister, he was a poor actor when it came to masking his emotions. He pushed his empty plates away from him, rested his elbows on the small table, and pressed his palms against eye sockets.

“Fuck!” He immediately jerked his hands away as if something had burned him and held his face where the bandages were. “Forgot about the fucking shit....eye....dammit!” He ground his teeth together and growled.

Seldras was immediately on her feet. “Are you alright? How did-?”

“Rogue templars,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Smashed my leg too. Lucky I didn't lose it. Mage helped me. Then I was at a refugee camp in the Hinterlands 'til I read your name on a Chantry board. Now _that_ was a surprise.” He attempted a smile, but could only manage a weak grimace. He didn't remove his hands from the bandages.

“Surprise for me too, huh?...We have a good healer. A mage apostate. You should go see him. He comes off as intimidating but I promise, he doesn't bite.”

  


Declan grumbled something about not wanting to be babied under his breath, but accepted her hand when she offered it. He clung to his staff when she handed it to him. It was a simple weathered length of wood with old leather wrapped around the middle as a grip, but it didn't bow under his weight in spite of its obvious age.“Some mages can levitate,” Declan sighed, “but I just light campfires and freeze ram meat. _Mythal'fuckin'enaste_.”

Seldras forced a nervous laugh and supported him as he made his way down the winding stairs of her quarters. He favored his right leg, wincing slightly with each movement.

The sun had set hours ago, leaving the Great Hall mostly empty save for a few stragglers, mostly kitchen staff. She was thankful for it. She was in no mood for gossipy Orlesian nobles, not that she _ever_ was. Overhearing Orlesians tittering about the Lady Herald and “Red Jenny” was quite amusing though - she had to give them that much.

The rotunda was empty when they entered it. _Shit_ , had he gone to sleep already? It wouldn't be unlike him. Solas did love his sleep.

“Nice paintings,” Declan observed. “The one with the wolves is nice.”

“He's really good with paint. I wish Solas would decorate my walls. The moldy brick is losing its charm.”

“...What?”

“Moldy brick. You were in my room. You could probably smell it.”

“No. The name. Solas.”

“Bizarre name, right? Pride.”

Declan's cheeks blanched. “I know a Solas. From-”

Solas walked into the room, arms full of various dusty tomes from the library. “Inquisitor,” he began, peering over the top of the stack, “how may I assist you this ev-” His gaze fell on Declan and he stopped short. His fingers tightened around the stack of books. His cheeks turned paler than usual, noticeable even in the low light. He set the books down on his desk.

Seldras blinked dumbly at the two of them. Their eyes were locked in seeming disbelief. Solas's mouth was slightly open. Declan's knuckles were turning white as he gripped his staff.

“You......know each other?” asked Seldras. Their was so much tension in the air that she wondered if they had fought against each other in a skirmish during the rebellion, but their eyes showed no hostility. She didn't know what to make of their expressions – or any of the situation for that matter.

Declan swallowed and lowered his eyes. “He's the mage who saved me from the rogue templars. That is how I know him.”

_What?_

“Solas....you....?”

Solas swallowed. “I....yes. I had no idea the two of you were related. He – Declan – never mentioned-”

Seldras gawked at the two of them. “You saved my brother? When?”

“It was before the explosion at the Conclave.” Solas folded his hands behind his back. “I was traveling alone when I came across a ransacked cottage. There were templars attacking an injured man.” He inclined his head towards Declan. “I intervened, as any decent person would.” Their eyes met again and once more, something unreadable passed between them.

She let out a breath. “Well. This is all rather bizarre but...thank you, Solas.”

Solas nodded, the smallest hint of an amused smile forming on his lips.

Seldras turned to Declan, who had fallen silent. “He's....well, sick and injured. But not dead. Thanks for that, by the way. Can you help him? I know it's late, but you're-”

“Sathem lasa halani, lethallan. It may have escaped your notice, but I do take frequent naps.”

“R-right.” Seldras fidgeted with the a stray strand of fabric on her sleeve. “I, uh....huh. I'll be in the tavern with Sera.” _And my pipe_. “Thank you. Again. I'll be....yeah.” She quickly walked out of the rotunda with a baffled expression, wondering if Sera would even believe her....seeing as she couldn't believe it herself.

\- - -

Declan's heart hammered in his aching chest. Solas? Here? _How?_

Solas cleared his throat and gestured to the couch. “It is good to see you again, Declan.”

“Y-yeah,” he rasped. When he stumbled, Solas put a hand on his back to support him and helped him sit.

Solas gently lifted up Declan's chin and examined the filthy bandages with a scowl. “I am sorry but that will have to be taken off. I will try my best to make it as painless as possible.”

“I've been through worse.” Declan didn't meet Solas's eyes.

Solas's hand fell from Declan's unmarred cheek to his shoulder.

“....I know, lethallin. And I am sorry that I could not have done more.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Before the Conclave  
> Sathem lasa halani - I am pleased to give assistance.  
> Mythal'enaste - Mythal's blessing. I've never heard anyone in canon say "Mythal'fucking'enaste" but I like to equate it to "God fucking dammit" or something along those lines. Declan is mixing common swearing with Dalish elvhen in to churn out a nice frustrated curse. Pottymouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last remnants of the life Declan knew before the Mage-Templar war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is violent and has some death and gore. Read at your own risk.

_Kingsway 7, 9:41 Dragon_

_I keep forgetting to write. Things are getting worse. The mages the templars have brought their blasted war to our doorstep and we've nowhere to go. Why did they pick now of all times to declare independence, and here of all places? They have damned every mage in southern Thedas._

_Sleep is becoming harder. The fighting is getting closer. Rell places wards, but what good are they against men trained to control magic? We will have to move again soon, Rell says. Where does he plan to go? What will we have to sell to-_

 

Declan dropped his quill. Yelling outside, dangerously close. Had the wards not triggered? Rell looked up from the fireplace, his brown eyes wide.

“Declan. Hide. Now.”

“What?” whispered the younger elf with an indignant scoff. “If I hide, you hide. If you fight, I fight. We've had this discussion.”

“Stubborn child,” sighed Rell, but the fear in his voice outweighed his disapproving tone. He quickly snuffed the fireplace with a short burst of frost, snatched his staff, and beckoned to him. 

As rehearsed, the apostates moved a series of loose bricks and hidden floorboards to reveal a pit dug directly into the earth, just large enough for two adults to sit in. They hid huddled together in the cramped space, sweat soaking their tunics. 

Declan swallowed a gasp at the sound of splintering wood came from nearby. What he could only assume was the ruined door of their home creaked on its hinges. The clumsy footsteps of heavily armored soldiers rattled above them. Talking, but in hushed whispers. He could only make out a few words spoken in the King's tongue.

“....Redcliffe....mages....lyrium....”

The footsteps grew louder until they stopped directly above the heads of the hidden mages. Suddenly the air felt too thick. Declan swallowed his nausea and tried not to open his mouth. Rell squeezed his hand.

Several minutes of uneasy silence followed. The footsteps slowly picked up, clattering away from them and towards the door. Declan let out a shaky, barely audible sigh. Rell closed his eyes and loosened his grip on Declan's hand.

Declan shot him a nervous glance. _Gone?_ He raised an eyebrow.

Rell closed his eyes again, reaching out to sense any traces of lyrium that might give away nearby templars.

Before he could answer, a steel boot crashed through the floorboards.

In an instant, Rell sprang forward. Fire flashed across the room. Declan leaped up, still reeling but frantically trying to conjure a lightning spell.

Too many of them....five? Seven? _Shit..._

With of flick of his wrist, Rell set the closest templar ablaze and swung his staff in wide circle. The remainder were momentarily frozen in their tracks by a lesser frost spell. They swore and spat at him. The curse was quickly dispelled by their own brand of Chantry magic. Before Declan could send a chain of lightning to counter them, an arrow lodged itself in his shoulder. Rell turned, alarmed by Declan's pained cry. He raised his hands to cast a barrier spell. His hands fell before the magic could leave his fingertps.

He froze and stared at his abdomen. Crimson rapidly spread from the sword impaling him. He raised a hand towards Declan as if to shield him with a magical barrier, but fell limp.

His body was shoved from the blade and across the room before Declan could process the grisly sight before him. His fingers still crackled with lightning.

His vision went red. He heard himself screaming as he shot spell after reckless spell at the templars.

One....two.....three....

Surprised chokes and death rattles as he took out half of them with an overcharged burst of electricity. The flare of his spell blinded him. He didn't see the flail coming.

The blow was so hard that if he hadn't stumbled, it might have killed him. He wished it had. The pain rendered him paralyzed and deaf. He clutched the right side of his face, now a bloody, marred mass of flesh. Something came crashing down on his leg. A crack, and his own hoarse screaming.

_Make them pay...._

Adrenaline shot through his veins, more potent than any lyrium drought. He mustered the last of his waning strength. If he was going to die, he would take them with him. Heat rose up in his bones, his muscles, ever fiber of his being -

He was slammed against the wall by a counter spell so forceful that, in his delirious state, he wondered if they had rendered him Tranquil. Not that it would have mattered if they had. He was already a dead man clinging to life by the thread of his will alone.

The templars circled around him like vultures, ready to tear that single fragile thread from his weakening grasp.

They sneered at him, swords drawn. His vision began to fade.

_Falon'din, lethanavir...Friend to the Dead...._

A sword rose above his head.

_Guide my feet, calm my soul._

“Knife-eared bastard-”

_Lead me to my rest._

The mocking venomous laughter of the templars melted into terrified screams. A bestial snarl tore through the deafening din of clattering steel and roaring fire.

It was the last sound Declan heard before he lost himself to the darkness. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Declan met an elf named Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of gruesome and sad. You have been warned. (I promise the next chapter isn't as miserable. I think.)

Nothingness.

For what could have been an eternity, it was all Declan knew. He existed in a dead world without thought, without emotion, without time. Perhaps he'd ceased to exist altogether. There was no knowing. There was no fighting. There was simply nothing.

He could have stayed there forever, cocooned by the arms of the abyss, never to awaken. But slowly, something began to tug at the bindings around his consciousness.

First came the pain. It was dull at first, a distant reverberating hum. Then, it became louder, faster, until it was a deafening crescendo. Fragmented sounds pulsed against the thinning walls of his haven.

_No....no...._

A knife pressed against the darkness. Fragmented shards of light pierced his consciousness.

_No, please, I don't want to go back, please...._

“ _Haril! Haril! Mamae, tell them to stop!”_

The fragments pierced naked flesh. The void collapsed around him. It was crushing him, solidifying into metallic rubble. He couldn't breathe, Creators, why couldn't he breathe?

Something soft enveloped him. Not the void, which had fallen from his grasp. Something....real, tangible. Living. The soft whimper of a injured beast bounced off the edges of his consciousness. It was the last thing he remembered before being hurled back into the waking world.

The whimper became his own ragged, strained breathing. Light carved into his skull. Weak, shaking hands fumbled for his face. The touch caused him to scream in pain. Something sticky....blood? Why couldn't he see? The templars....did they take him? Were they torturing him?

_Creators, don't make me Tranquil, please, I don't want to die-_

A soft voice broke through the sounds of his own.

“Da'len, ame eth!”

He curled fumbled blindly for something, anything to fight them with. Thin fingers wrapped around his hand, firm but not hard enough to hurt him.

“Get th-the fuck away from me!” he spat.

The blinding light began to weaken. “Please, be still. You will hurt yourself,” said the voice.

Who...? Rell? No....Rell....Rell was...

A choke wracked Declan's body. He fell limp in the grasp of his captor.

“Shhh, shhh. Be at peace. I will not harm you.”

Cold, damp fabric dabbed at the unmarred side of his face. Shapes began to take form before him. A blurred humanoid figure stood over him, silhouetted against the flickering light of what must have been a campfire. A pair of silvery blue eyes blinked at him in the darkness, and pointed ears protruded from the creature's head.

He tried to speak but choked and rolled over on his side, clutching his belly. Nausea crashed over him in crippling waves. His head felt as if it had been split open and his sweat-soaked skin could have been on fire for all he knew. “H....h...” The plea for help was interrupted by his convulsing stomach. Raw bile and blood dampened his lips – his aching belly was too empty to produce anything else.

A gentle hand rubbed his back in soothing, circular motions. Arms held him upright and pressed a water-skin tentatively against his lips. The moment the liquid touched his tongue, Declan drank greedily, ignoring the protests of his stomach.

“Slowly, slowly...good. You are doing well.”

When Declan pushed away, there was nothing left in the water-skin. He collapsed back onto the fur bedroll he was lying on and peered wearily up at the elf through his remaining eye. He could see him now – a bald elf with sharp features and sad eyes, holding a drained water-skin and a wet cloth. He wore no visible vallaslin – a city elf? No, he didn't bear the look of a merchant, but...

“W....where.” His lips cracked as he tried to speak.

“A cave,” responded the man, “hidden by overgrowth and guarded by warding spells. You are safe, da'len.”

_Wards....the wards didn't go off. Templars. Rell. Rell..._

“Th...the other elf. W-with. With me.”

The man looked down, brow furrowing. “I am sorry.”

A hollowness reminiscent of the void he'd previously woken from filled his chest. He covered his face with his hands, no longer caring how much it hurt. His fingertips touched shorn hair, presumably cut away to tend to the right side of his face – or what remained of it. The unnatural pressure in his eye socket told him that nothing remained of his right eye. He rolled over on his side, too dehydrated and numb to weep, and stared blankly at the ground.

_You should be dead. Why, why did_ you  _come back? Why not him? Why?_

He curled in on himself. Dry, ragged sobs racked his body in spite of his attempts to hold them back. A hand touched his shoulder. He did not protest. Before long, a fitful sleep took him.

The consistent pressure in his skull dragged him away from sleep some time later. The pain was very much there, though not as crippling. His remaining vision was not as blurry as it had been, but the light of the campfire was just as cruel as he remembered it. The elf from before was crouched in front of it, tending to a small cooking kettle.

Declan shifted and groaned. His leg – he couldn't feel his leg. He glanced down past his torso. His right leg was bound and strapped to a thin splint. Badly crushed and broken, no doubt, but still there. Just how skilled was this healer to have kept him alive for so long?

The elf in question glanced up from the fire at the movement. He observed Declan curiously before going back to stirring the contents of the kettle. Declan watched him, the old hollow sensation rising in his chest.

After a few moments, the elf approached Declan with a wooden bowl and a spoon and sat down cross-legged next to the bedroll. The scent of a thin vegetable soup filled Declan's nostrils. His stomach growled eagerly, but Declan made no motion to sit up.

“It is good to see you awake,” said the elf with a small smile. He stirred the contents of the bowl.

“I am called Solas. May I have your name, lethallin?”

Declan looked away. He remembered his name, but couldn't find the energy or will to speak. The elf named Solas dipped his head a little.

Thin fingers brushed the hair from Declan's face and away from the bandages. The bandages on his face felt lighter, as if they'd recently been changed, and he was in clean clothes save for his smalls.

Solas gently prompted him to sit up. It was only with his support that Declan was able to lift his head. He took in a sharp, panicked breath when splintering pain shot through his system.

“Easy.” The soft glow of healing magic danced on the older elf's fingertips and spread through Declan's protesting body. He relaxed slightly and stared at the bowl of soup. There were vegetables in it and some sort of meat, probably rabbit. He wanted nothing more than to collapse back into the fur-lined bedding, but his hunger was maddening.

Solas lifted the spoon and blew on it lightly. Declan reached for it only to hiss and almost fall back onto the bedroll. Was there no part of his body that wasn't battered?

Solas hesitated, then held the spoon closer to Declan's mouth. Whatever stubborn pride was left in Declan melted away. He ate eagerly, no longer caring how ridiculous he looked or felt being spoon-fed. He became aware that his face was wet – not with food or blood, but with tears.

When he had eaten all he could, he sank back onto the bedroll. The effort of eating had taken so much from him that he didn't bother to dry the tears his cheeks. He closed his eyes without a word.

He cringed when something wet touched his face. A damp cloth. Declan swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I should change the bandaging on your leg,” murmured Solas after a few minutes. “It will not lie – it will hurt. But I will do what I can to alleviate the pain.”

Declan didn't move or respond, but growled and gulped down short breaths when his crippled leg was moved. Warmth quickly spread through his muscles – healing magic. Slowly, he relaxed and forced himself to take deep, steady breaths. The apostate tended to his leg with remarkable speed. When it was done, he tucked the blanket around Declan's shoulders and began to walk off.

“....Declan.”

Solas turned his head. “I'm sorry?”

Declan looked up at Solas, blinking back tears.

“My name,” he rasped. “My name is Declan.”

The corners of Solas's mouth turned upward slightly.

“It is good to finally meet you, Declan.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ame eth. You are safe.  
> This chapter was depressing, have some [silly art](http://schrodanger.tumblr.com/post/129690391612/nailed-it-line-art)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wounds, new and old. SFW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long - real life and some bad writer's block caught up with me. Hopefully there will be less of a gap between 6 and 7. Much love to the people who've been reading and a warm welcome to new readers! 
> 
> Update: Chapter names have been removed because 1) I have trouble with them and 2) they can be spoilery.

"Good to see you again, Solas." 

Declan avoided eye contact as he spoke, keeping his head bowed. There were noticeable hints of hurt and sadness in his voice.“Honestly, I'm surprised to find you alive.”

“Life has a way of taking me to strange places,” Solas replied quietly. He gestured to the doorway of the rotunda. “Come, there are medical supplies in the cellar beneath the main hall.”

Declan attempted to walk independent of any support, but the pain made it impossible. He swallowed his pride and reluctantly leaned against Solas.

“The Inquisitor has quite a way with introductions,” Solas commented as they descended the stairs to the lower halls.

“I must've been a solid slap to the face. I've been dead to the Clan for twenty years and then I show up on her doorstep, still breathing – ow!” He hissed and cringed as Solas helped him sit down on an empty over-turned supply crate.

“The shortcomings of Dalish tradition are not her doing,” replied Solas. He rummaged through the poorly-labeled boxes for any bandaging or suitable healing ointments he could find. “From what I have learned of her, the Inquisitor is not one who bears guilt well, even if the guilt is not hers to carry.”

Declan shrugged and kept his gaze on his feet. He cleared his throat to break the uneasy stillness that followed Solas's odd remarks about the Inquisitor.

“So, uh....thanks to the rumors, I sort of know what happened to Sel. Allegedly tossed out of the Fade by Andraste, marked holy by this 'Inquisition,' had a stare-down with an ancient god-magister, buried herself in an avalanche, and by some stroke of shitty luck, became leader of a heretical offshoot of the Chantry. Is that right?”

Solas's amused chuckling echoed through the spacious hall. “Colorful phrasing, but yes. That is correct.”

“Mythal's ass, sis....that takes care of her, then. But how did _you_  end up here?”

“I should ask the same of you.” Solas took some clean gauze and laid it out neatly on another overturned crate that was serving as his worktable. Bandages, some pungent smelling ointments and herbs, liquor for disinfecting....it was going to hurt.

Declan pushed aside his worry about being treated and took no time in countering Solas's deflection. “I asked first, and you owe me an explanation.”

A mere day before the sudden explosion at the Conclave, Solas had left with little warning, claiming that immediate knowledge of the Divine's peace talks was vital to his and Declan's survival, as they were both fleeing apostates. He'd promised to come back, insisting he had no intentions of leaving an injured man alone in the middle of the cold, war-torn wilderness of Ferelden.

But he had...and then the sky tore open.

Solas only replied after he'd begun his work on Declan's soiled bandaging. “I was fortunate to arrive fashionably late at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Had I been closer at the time of the explosion, I would have been killed. I investigated the area afterwards, hoping to study and mend the tears in the Veil. When the Chantry forces who would later become the Inquisition arrived, I lent them my aid willingly. They needed knowledge of the Breach and the Fade. They also needed their prisoner – your sister – to remain alive in order to gain any insight to what happened at the Temple.”

Before Declan could inquire further, the last of the bandages fell away, leaving his inflamed and poorly healed flesh exposed to open air. He grimaced, clenched his hands in his lap, and forced himself to breathe.

Solas wrinkled his nose and examined the gashes with a disdainful eye. “Did you not use the supplies I left for you?”

“Of course I did,” Declan snapped. “I could only hold out so long in a poorly supplied cave barricaded from bandits and demons with a few fucking barrels and second-rate protective magic.”

“My wards did not last, then?”

“No, they didn't last! A pride demon broke them and killed itself within an hour of the shit-storm that began with that hole in the sky. And then it was just  _my_  magic.”

Solas's expression softened. He left the topic alone for the time being and turned his attention to Declan's wounds. “I am going to treat these cuts. It will hurt.”

Declan replied with a nonchalant grunt. The emotionless response quickly escalated into a stream of loud, tight curses that would have made a Chantry sister faint. The already furious gashes covering his face felt as if they were being set on fire.

“Easy. Try not to move.”

“Mythal's ffffucking  _tits_! Are you...d-done?”

“Almost.”

It took all of Declan's will not to claw at his face when Solas finished his work. He let out a frustrated growl through clenched teeth. Sweat drenched his already filthy robes.

Suddenly, he became incredibly cold and lost awareness of himself. He stared numbly at the stone floor. His breaths came out in quivering gasps that he couldn't hear. The pulling sensation of a warm hand gripping his shoulder brought him back to reality.

“Declan?”

A face formed before him, familiar....who?

“Declan, can you hear me?”

Everything came rushing back. Declan shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. “H-huh?”

Solas's worry was evident in the hard lines creasing his face. “Do you know your name?”

He blinked and grimaced.

Haril? No.... _Declan._

“My name is Declan.”

“Good. Do you know what year it is? The month?”

“It's....F-Firstfall. 9:41 Dragon.”

“Good. And my name?”

“Pride. Er....sorry. Solas.”

Solas nodded and kept his hand on Declan's shoulder until the color had returned to the younger mage's face.

“I know you are angry with me for leaving,” he began as he unwound a roll of fresh gauze, “but I did not leave you with the intention of having you harmed. I expected to return later, within a day or so. I did eventually return once the Inquisition trusted me enough to move on my own. I found a group of apostates in the cave in your stead.”

“Couldn't stay there,” Declan mumbled. “The Crossroads seemed like the best option. Heard rumors about Redcliffe. Wanted to stay clear of there.”

“You were at the Crossroads?”

“ _After_  your Inquisition passed through, I guess. Would've recognized you or Sel. Ow, gods dammit Solas!”

“Ir abelas. I am being as careful as I can. Did the conditions at the Crossroads not improve?”

“If you call lice-infested linens and watery soup an improvement. Clean supplies only came shortly before I saw Seldras's name on the Chantry board and left. A lot of people didn't....”

An young elven refugee, emaciated and trembling with fever. He put his rationed cup of water against her mouth. The liquid spilled over dry lips. He withdrew, dread and helplessness filling up his aching belly. The next morning, she had been taken away.

“...Didn't...make it.”

“I am sorry. I did not-”

“You keep apologizing.”

“And I am sincere in my words.” Solas tucked the last of the bandaging neatly into place, double-checking for any untreated wounds before pulling away.

“Well...” Declan crossed his arms and stared at the scattered boot prints on the dusty floor. “Doesn't sound like you had much of a choice either. With the Inquisition and such.” He recoiled when Solas started to roll up his pants leg. “Ugh,  _that_ too?”

“Yes. My apologies.”

“Oh for fuck's sake, _stop_ apologizing! It's not like you broke made me like – ugh,  _shit_.” He reeled and gripped the edges of the crate the second Solas's fingertips touched his shin.

Solas inhaled sharply at the sight of Declan's right leg – bruised, swollen, and angled slightly inward.

“Before you bitch me out for not taking care of myself, try running from bandits with -”

“I had no intention of lecturing you,” sighed Solas. “I merely wish I could have properly repaired it before my departure.”

“It's still attached, at least.”

“And I'm assuming you want it to stay attached.” Solas closed his eyes and wrapped the limb in tendrils of soothing healing magic. After the magic had done all it could for the misshapen bone and damaged muscle, he secured the leg with a stable splint. “Please stay off of it when possible and use an aid when you walk. Ask your sister for a better support than this, preferably in the near future.

He searched the uniform creates and handed Declan a folded up set of standard issue red and grey Inquisition robes. “You also may need to check yourself for parasites.”

Declan grunted and forced himself to stand. “The jailers already doused me in some wretched herbal powder for that. Doesn't account for the fleas in the hay or the fact that I smell like a horse's ass, but I'm tired.”

Solas respectfully turned his back while Declan changed. Declan uttered numerous curses and irritated growls.

“Do you need my aid?” Solas called.

“No.” Declan's old robes flew over Solas's shoulder. “Would recommend burning those.”

Solas retrieved the filthy garments and held them at arms length. He discarded them in a bin full of rejected weapons and dented armor.

Declan limped past Solas and grabbed his staff from the wall. He clung to it so hard that his knuckles turned white. Even properly treated, his body felt battered, useless, and exhausted of all energy. He almost fell asleep on his feet while Solas cleaned up his work area.

“Do you have anywhere to rest?” Solas inquired.

Declan rubbed his face, taking great care to avoid the fresh bandages. “Sel said I would have my own room within the next day or so.”

“If you wish, there is a couch in my study.”

“No offense, but I'd like more privacy than that. D'you know where Sel went?”

“One might assume that she went to the tavern to unwind, considering her panicked state. Be warned, the tavern is not the pinnacle of priv-”

“There you are!” interrupted a familiar voice. “Fuckin' looked all over the place.” The Inquisitor stood at the doorway to the storage hall, rocking on her heels a little. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair disheveled, and her scent a noticeable mixture of ale, smoke, and acrid spices.

“The rotunda is not an infirmary, Inquisitor,” Solas retorted.

“Yeah, er....sorry 'bout...”

“It is fine.” Solas glanced at Declan. “I have done what I can for your brother. Regular healing sessions are vital to his recovery. I believe he would also benefit from an eyepatch and  _proper_ support for his leg.”

She rubbed the back of her head. “Thanks. And I still want storytime about-” Seldras drunkenly pointed at both Declan and Solas. “I'd take you to chat in the tavern, but it's filled to the brim and everyone in this castle is too damned nosy.”

She gestured to Declan. “You can sleep in my room tonight. Cullen and his men are working double time so you'll  _probably_  have your own bed tomorrow. Promise!”

Declan shrugged. “A burlap sack would be fine at this point.”

“There's dinner in my room. C'mon, I don't want it to get cold!”

Before following Seldras, Declan turned to Solas and inclined his head. “Thank you, Solas. I owe you. Really.”

Solas shook his head and stood upright, clasping his hands behind his back. “You owe me nothing, lethallin. Go with your sister. I am sure the two of you have much to discuss.”

\- - -

Declan ate his dinner slowly. He savored each bite of roast ram and vegetables as if it were his last. It had been so long since he'd had anything to eat other than moldy bread and watery gruel.

Seldras, on the other hand, finished her meal in less than ten minutes and listened eagerly to Declan's story of how he'd met Solas and ended up at the Crossroads. By the time he stopped speaking, she had sobered up.

“Solas saved me three times, and then he saved you.” She ran a hand through her mussed hair and let out a long sigh. “He has a knack for being in the right place at the right time, doesn't he?”

“So it would seem.” Declan took a long swig from his mug of ale.

Seldras fidgeted with a plaid ribbon tied around her wrist. “I should take you to meet the others some time. I think Bull and Sera would like you.”

“Bull? Who's that, your pet druffalo?”

“A Qunari mercenary. Have you ever met a Qunari? They're huge! And Sera, she's my-” Seldras arched her eyebrows and made a few vague motions with her hands.

“....Your.... _other_  pet druffalo?”

“My girlfriend.”

Declan let out a genuine, hearty laugh. “Huh! You've got a girlfriend? Thought the Clan would've chained you to someone by now.”

“Oh, they _tried_ ,” she snorted. “First one ran off with some traveling shem merchant. The second lasted a _week_  before he was begging the matchmaker for someone else.”

Declan flashed a grin. “Hmph. So you haven't changed much then? Good to know.”

Seldras's amused smile fell. “Well...I have in some ways. Just not that way. I was quiet for awhile about...you. Then I started talking about it, about the Clan's customs. Made everyone uncomfortable. I also fucked up my first hunt three times. But then – get this! - when I finally pulled it off, I bagged a fucking bear...”

Declan leaned back in his seat and sipped from his mug while she recounted the years. The trip overseas to the Free Marches, the “great bear fiasco of 9:33,” her apprenticeship to clan Lavellan's craftsman, her father's untimely death at the hands of bandits, Seldras's own declining physical health, the attack that wiped out the clan...

Declan found himself staring at the fireplace. The light burned his phantom eye, but the pain kept him grounded, safe from floating off into the muddled mire of his own thoughts. Regardless of his efforts to stay focus, sleep constantly threatened to overtake him. At some point, he was shaken awake by Seldras before he could doze off.

“My stories are that boring?” Seldras snarked with a goofy grin.

“Hmm? No, no, m'sorry. Long day. Tired.”

“I'm teasing.” She pointed to the canopied bed where she'd previously been sitting. “Go on, lie down.”

He stretched and yawned. “What about you?”

“There's a couch by the fireplace. And I quite like that couch.”

Declan grumbled something about fleas but Seldras paid him no mind. Still fully clothed in his robes, he collapsed onto the mattress. After weeks of sleeping in the dirt with one hand on the hilt of his dagger, nestling in a pile of pristine furs and silks was too surreal a feeling for him to process.

Before Seldras could even douse the fireplace or wish him a good night, he was already lost in the depths of his dreams.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Declan has more trouble settling into Skyhold than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for PTSD content, some gory / horror stuff.

“They deserved it.”

The rumbling voice of the guardian caused a tremor in the ground as it spoke. Stone paws flanked Declan's side, pressing uncomfortably against his ribs. The weathered totem of Fen'harel, forever facing away from the camp, curled around him. Declan jerked away from its touch. His hands, sticky with blood, shook against his sides. The deep groan of breaking rock deafened him as the beast's maw cracked open to speak once more.

“They called you bastard. Flat-ear. Left you to die.” It kept its back turned on the camp – once the home of his lost family, now a grim feast of carnage for the vultures.

Killed by the bastard's own hands. _His_ hands. 

He shook his head. “No, no, they....they didn't....deserve...”

“And she-” The statue incline its head to the left. Impaled on Declan's staff was the girl who once called him brother. Her eyes remained fixated on the dark sky, mouth agape in eternal shock.

“To her, you were a halfling. Corpse. She bedded the mage-killers. What kept her from putting the spike through your eye, trickster? You did what had to be done. If not her, then you.”

A sickly chill spread in his chest. He stared at the blood drying in the heart-lines on his hands.

“Kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. We are not so different, you and I....da'fen.”

The guardian stood, dirt and vines falling from its belly. Its rough jaw pressed against Declan's right cheek. A supernatural weight pressed down on Declan's shoulders.

“You know my truths, child.”

Declan's muscles went limp. He fell into the still-warm pools of blood on the ground.

“Heed my gospel, the gospel of the betrayed and downtrodden, the gospel of the lost and weary....the gospel of Despair.”

Frigid breath shackled him to the ground. The demon opened its slavering maw, poised to crush his head in its jaws-

A roar like a thousand cracks of thunder hurled the demon from the ground. Stone splintered and fell away to reveal a screeching robed monstrosity, hugging itself with gnarled emaciated hands. It hissed at the new contender. Freed, Declan sluggishly picked himself off the ground and gawked at the sky.

From the abyss, six eyes of fiery crimson stared down at them.

“Enough.”

The revealed demon curled in on itself with a shriek and dissolved into nothingness. As the creature ceased to be, Declan felt the weight fall from his shoulders. The gruesome hellscape of death, the lakes of blood – all of it vanished into the void, replaced by a simple calm.

The six eyes turned to Declan, but their burn did not harm him. Instead, warmth spread through his bones, chasing away the despair demon's chill. When it spoke, it's words were not heard. They were felt.

“ _Tel'enfenim._ You have nothing to fear.”

\- - -

He bolted awake with a start. For a moment, he didn't know where he was, but the memories of yesterday's introduction to the Inquisition quickly came back to him. He was soaked in sweat and shaking, but to his surprise and relief, the pressure in his head wasn't nearly as bad as it had been the night before. He would have expected a crippling migraine after so intense a nightmare. The visions of his sister impaled on his own staff would not soon leave him - he knew that much.

It wasn't the first demon he'd encounter in the past few months, but it was the first that had come so close to harming him. It was also the first time his psyche had responded so defensively. For that, he was grateful. Perhaps there were wards around Skyhold to fortify it against magic from the rifts?

He rubbed his face and blinked around the room. The shades were drawn so that the space was barely lit save for the crackling fireplace and the glimmer of warm runes inscribed on what Declan recognized to be a small bath.

A collection if items on the bedside table caught his attention – several healing elixirs, a pitcher of water and a mug, a neatly wrapped stack of biscuits, and a folded letter.

He forced down one of the potions with a single gulp and drank straight from the water jug. He nonchalantly splashed some of the water on his neck. While nibbling on some of the sweet bread she'd left him, Declan read Seldras's note:

_Brother,_

_You sleep like a log! I hope you're feeling better. There's a pick me up on the table. Feel free to use the bath. It's enchanted to keep the water warm so don't worry about freezing. And don't worry about any messes! I'll clean it up. Come down soon. Your room is ready. If anyone bothers you let me know and I'll put my boot up their ass._

_Love, Sel_

_P.S. I'm in the War Room talking with the advisers. Hall right next to my room. Go there if you need to find me._

Declan smiled a little. He held the letter close to his chest, treasuring each word he'd read. She was here, she was safe. She was....wasn't she? His heart rate picked up. 

"Just a dream. Just a dream. She'll b-be downstairs when you leave." 

He forced the grisly images out of his head and turned to the rune-emblazoned tub. When was the last time he'd had a real bath? Even having grown accustomed to it, he knew he probably smelled like horseshit and death.

His body groaned and protested as he stripped out of his clothes and peeled the bandages off of his face. Everything burned and stung the second his skin hit the water. After a few minutes his body's initial confusion melted away and his aching body found solace in the warm, scented waters of the bath. He spent most of his time lying still with his head back, focusing on the stained glass motifs of trees and crescent moons on the windows.

Eventually, he forced himself to scrub at the grime on his skin. Washing his hair was long overdue but excruciating. He shook as he stood and almost slipped in a puddle while drying himself off. A simple set of casual garb was laid out for him on the dresser. He slipped into it – loose, but comfortable and warm. He squinted at the spot of blood on the sleeve and touched his face.

Great. Blood and Maker knew what else. Washing must have angered his wounds. He grumbled and rummaged around by the dresser until he found some fresh gauze, then turned to the mirror.

Declan stopped breathing the sight of himself. He'd never been one to preen, but he knew what he looked like. This was not it. Where once stood a well-fed but lean and proud mage stood a gaunt and pale waif of an elf, staring at itself with confused and bloodshot eyes. His face was a scarred, bloody mess, his hair was disheveled and uneven, and the tips of his ears drooped slightly.

He gripped the edges of the dresser, breath coming out in panicked gasps. When he looked back up, Seldras's lifeless eyes met his. 

\- - -

“Tell 'im to come have drinks with us,” piped Sera. She held tight onto Seldras's hand, swinging her arm lightly.

Seldras swung her arm in time with her lover's, ignoring the disapproving glances from the tittering nobles in the Great Hall. “If he's up for it. He might not even be awake yet.”

“S'almost sunset. How long's he gonna sleep?”

“We'll get together soon. In the next few days maybe, after he gets settled in.”

They stopped at the door to Seldras's quarters. Sera nuzzled Seldras's neck affectionately and murmured, “Lady Saggybum from Starkhaven bitched out Josie over the tea cakes earlier, said they were too dry or some shit.” Her lips curled upward into a smirk. “Wanna show her how it's done in the Inquisition?”

Seldras snorted, drawing attention from nearby guests. She lowered her voice. “Pies?”

Sera let out a deep giggle. “Itchin' powder.”

“You are _wicked_...Do it.”

“Catch ya 'round, luv.” Sera gave her a wet kiss on the cheek, causing Seldras to grin and turn bright red. She watched with butterflies in her tummy as Sera left, cracking a shit-eating grin at the offending noble on her way out.

A startling stillness greeted her when she entered her chambers. She glanced at the bed – Declan was not there. Had he left? The tub had been used, his old clothes discarded.

Her heart skipped a beat. He was next to the bedside table, hugging his knees to his chest and staring vacantly at the fireplace.

“Brother?”

He looked up at her slowly. The wounds on his face were agitated and bleeding. His gaze was glassed over and distant.

She knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder. “What happened?”

He shook his head. “Y-you were dead. And...and I'm...I....there's s-someone else. In the m-mirror.”

She furrowed her brow. “Something in the mirror?”

“Hadn't seen m-myself. I don't....That's n-not....not what I...what I look like.” He clenched his jaw and fell silent. “And you...I..I killed....everyone was gone. Everyone's....everyone's g-gone. Y-you were dead, like...like Rell." 

"Rell?"

"M-my other dad...t-took me in. H-he's gone. You're-" 

She squeezed his shoulder. “Alive and not going anywhere. I'm here for you. We'll get through this. You'll get through this. I won't leave you, ever.”

Declan didn't respond. He kept his eyes on the hearth.

Seldras sat down next to him, staring glumly at her boots. She knew very little of what he had been through and even if she had, she doubted she would know what else to say. She certainly didn't know what to say now.

They sat in an uneasy silence that neither of them attempted to break, punctuated only by the crackling of the logs in the fireplace.

Before long the light outside began to dim. Declan was still staring at the fireplace in numb silence.

Seldras hesitated before finding his hand and gripping it tightly in hers. His fingers twitched. He bowed his head. He shuddered and let out a strangled choke.

Her vision blurred with tears. She wrapped him in her arms and pulled him close. He clung painfully tight to her as he wept, soft whimpers becoming harsh, unrestrained sobs. 

"D-don't die, p-please, please sis, please d-don't, _please_ -" 

"Shh, shh, I'm not, I won't. I'm here....I'm here. I promise." She pressed her forehead against his temple and rubbed his back. She bit her bottom lip and fought against her own tears. 

In the short time they had been together in her youth, he played the perfect role of the elder brother. He took her to the forest's edge to watch the wolves romping through the underbrush. He remedied her nightmares with fanciful tales of floating castles and undiscovered treasures.

And when he left, he left with a set jaw, telling her it would be fine. That somehow, he would be alright. _She_ would be alright.

It was her turn to be strong. 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought this fic was dead, you're not the only one. I did too. Life has been kicking my ass for a good while. Churning this chapter was as much of an uphill struggle as day-to-day life has been. To those of you who have stuck with me this entire time, you have my deepest love and gratitude. <3 Without further ado, here's Chapter 8.

Several days passed without further incident. Declan found himself in a small room overlooking the Skyhold garden. The dwelling was modest and didn't spare him from the sound of the moaning mountain winds, but it was otherwise well-built considering its age. The crackling hearth gave him much needed warmth. The castle's staff kept him stocked with hearty meals, hot drinks, and healing herbs. The smiths provided him with a sturdy brace for his leg and a comfortable eyepatch for his face.

In spite of Seldras's warm welcome, he couldn't help but feel like a trespasser in the overbearing castle. He preferred the privacy of his room, where he was safe from the prying eyes of Skyhold's population. Nobles, soldiers, and kitchen staff alike ogled him, a slouched, quiet stranger who'd earned the blessings of the alleged Herald of Andraste overnight. “They stare at everyone,” Seldras insisted, but it brought Declan little reassurance. So in his room he stayed, surrounded by books and staring into the hearth, his thoughts wandering to revisit nightmarish territory that he had no wish to set foot in ever again.

Seldras's visits were comforting and frequent, but short. She always seemed to be flustered or in a hurry and her eyes were noticeably shadowed from lack of sleep. Not exactly the energetic sprout of an elf he'd known as a child. The Inquisition was clearly taking its tole on her. No doubt there were also other things going on behind the scenes.

It was during one of her rushed visits that Seldras insisted Declan have a tour of the castle, partially to help familiarize him with the area and partially to help him become more comfortable with leaving his room. To be his tour guide she suggested none other than Sera, a name Declan now recognized as that of Seldras's lover.

“I can find my own way,” he argued.

“You tried to find the war room and ended up in the pantry under the rotunda,” she countered.

He'd shrugged and hobbled off to his favorite chair before sighing a resigned “Fine, fair enough.”

It was now that he waited on the edge of his bed, clad in light fur-lined armor and a loose jacket and clutching his staff close. Sera was late, but he didn't mind. His heart raced nervously at the mere thought of being surrounded by so many unfamiliar people at once. He hoped this “tour” wouldn't take long. A sharp knock on the door caused Declan to jump.

“Come in,” he croaked, voice hoarse from lack of use.

A tall spindly elf dressed in bright red highever weave, yellow plaid, and oversized shoes stumbled in and quickly slammed the door shut behind her. She pressed a scarred ear to the door and brushed her bangs out of her face.  “Think Josie finally found the buckets,” she wheezed.

“Pardon?”

“Shh!” She froze and listened intently. Swift footsteps echoed outside and quickly passed. After a few seconds she snickered and whispered, “Right, we're good.”

She walked up to him, still catching her breath. Declan blinked up dumbly at her. Was this-

“Name's Sera,” she piped, holding out a hand.

“Declan.” He gave her hand a timid shake.

Sera put her hands on her hips and tilted her head curiously. “Hm...Yeah, you're her brother alright. Got the brows and the pout.” She cleared her throat. “So! I'm to show you around the castle, says Sel. We can walk and talk at the same time. Stayin' in one place too long is boring. Plus I think Josie's still on the prowl.” She extended a hand once more. Declan stared at it.

“Need help getting 'round?” she asked after a long silence.

“O-oh.” He stood and put his weight on his staff. “No. I'm fine.”

“No shame in it.”

He glanced at her, from her shaking hands to her scarred ears, and swallowed his pride. “Thanks, though.”

“No problem, mate.” Sera peered out cautiously before leaving the room, presumably to make sure the coast was clear.

“What'd you do?” he asked.

“Bucket prank set up in the ambassador's office. It was SUPPOSED to shower some prick from Val Royeaux in slop for the livestock, but....” Sera giggled nervously. “Got Josie instead. Need to work on that.”

Declan couldn't help but crack a smile as he closed the door behind them.

“Who was supposed to get the slop?”

She shrugged. “Like I said, some prick from Val Royeaux. Got word from a friend of a friend that he's been leechin' way more than what's legal from from the people who live on his land.”

“Hm...but slop doesn't fix that.”

Sera crossed her arms. “A dumped bucket on his head would have said, 'Oi, you're an arse, we know it, and you ain't getting any support from us. Have fun picking peelings out of your silky underthings. Now bugger off.'”

Declan snorted so hard he almost choked. “Effective!”

“Damn right. You should join in sometime. Sel needs lessons. She's shite at sneakin'.” She turned towards the garden below and waved her hand at it dismissively. “Right, pretty obvious what this is. Healing plants and all that grow here. Sometimes people come here to read and pray or whatever. There's a chapel by the gazebo.”

Declan hobbled after Sera, giving the garden a once-over. By the northern edge, nearly hidden among fronds of elfroot, he noticed a small shrine built in the likeness of an owl. Dried flowers rested against its bosom, outstretched wings welcoming any who might approach it. He recognized it as a statue dedicated to Falon'Din.

Before he could ask about the out-of-place elven altar, Sera was one room over in the main part of the castle.“This,” she began, making an overly-dramatic gesture at the hall before them, “is the Great Hall. Nobles are here. But so's food.”

The hall was crowded with nobles and guests from every corner of Thedas. Indistinct chattering, clattering of silverware, and the hammering of maintenance crews filled the hall with a constant din. The only light source save for dimly-lit chandeliers and a single fireplace were the stained glass windows at the end of the hall, where a lone throne sat bathed in the harsh light of the setting sun.

Declan gawked at the meat-filled platters scattered about the dining tables. A few people stopped talking to stare at Declan. He averted his gaze and inspected his boots, feeling beads of sweat form on his forehead.

“Better to get your grub at the tavern,” said Sera. She wrinkled her nose at the nosy guests. “It's louder at the tavern but you don't get as many eyes peepin' where they don't belong. People are friendlier and there's less pissing matches. Not literal pissing matches. I mean sometimes when people get drunk enough – oh, Sel's room is down at the end. You've been there. War room is next to that, same wall, and the smithy's cave is over there...”

Sera crossed the hall and led Declan into what she called “the circle stair thing.” He immediately remembered it as the rotunda where Solas worked. The elf in question was nowhere in sight, leaving Sera and Declan alone with unfinished frescos and a lone desk covered in dusty books and sketches.

“Baldy paints and does elfy shite here. You know him right? Sel said you know each other or somethin'. Weird story, wouldn't have believed her if she'd been smashed.”

“Yeah, he...saved me, I guess. I wasn't conscious.” He absently scratched at the agitated scars not covered by his eyepatch. Sera must have picked up on his unease because she changed the subject seconds later.

“Oh, we have a library! Just up there. And above _that_ is our spymaster Leliana and her birds. And bird crap. Watch yer head around here. So, next stop?”

Declan looked up, eyes half lidded and face covered in a sickly sheen of sweat. “Huh?” he mumbled. He saw Sera's brow furrow through blurred vision.

“You alright, mate?”

“Yeah,” he swallowed. His ears were ringing so loudly he could barely hear himself speak.

He nearly dropped his staff when Sera's hand touched his shoulder. “H-hey, deep breaths, alright?”

He nodded numbly and forced himself to inhale. When he could finally raise his head without reeling, he saw that Sera had turned sheet white and was staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“M'okay,” he slurred.

“We sh-should sit down somewhere,” she stammered. She guided him out of the rotunda, walking a little too fast. Her hands were trembling.

They stopped at the top of the steps overlooking Skyhold's courtyard. With some help, Declan sat down beside Sera, resting his staff across his lap and looking down. Sera fidgeted with the hem of her shirt and swung her legs over the edge, swinging them back and forth anxiously.

The cold breeze quickly revived Declan. With that revival came a great deal of embarrassment. He stared off at the stables on the far left of the courtyard.

“I'm....” He let out a deep sigh. “I didn't mean to....”

Sera looked up with perked ears. Her face brightened with relief. “W-what? Pfft! Didn't scare me. Just...well, actually you did scare me. But it ain't your fault.”

Declan rubbed his cheek and grunted.

“You don't have to be tough about it, y'know.”

“Tough about what?” he grumbled.

Sera gestured at nothing in particular. “Anything. I'm not tough. Sel's not tough. No one here's that tough, really. Not even Bull. And he's big, muscle and fat. You can be _you_.”

Declan chewed on his bottom lip, unsure of what to say. Sera filled the silence by pointing out the various buildings visible in the courtyard. She spoke a little faster than she had been, words tumbling over each other. Declan's closed-off demeanor gradually fell away. He leaned in, taking care to show her that he was paying attention.

“I squat there.” Sera finally pointed to the tavern across the courtyard. “It's nice enough. Too noisy sometimes.”

“How's the booze?” Declan asked.

“Piss-water usually. You want the hard stuff.”

Declan smiled slightly.“That's what I usually go for. My dad made moonshine.”

“Ha!” Sera cackled. “Bet you could drink the Chargers under the table! Take 'em by surprise. Play the innocent hermit card and watch 'em drop!” Sera looked up at the dimming horizon and groaned. “Uuugh. Where is she? S'almost dark.”

“Is she usually this busy?”

“Well yeah, but she said she'd be out by sundown. Hope the slop didn't frick things up bad enough to hold her up.”

“Takes more than flopped pranks to hold me up,” came a familiar voice from behind them. “Josie's pissed though.”

“Inky!”

Sera lept to her feet and nearly knocked over a ruffled and exhausted Seldras. Declan scratched his cheek and held back an amused chuckle.

“We quit a little early,” explained Sera after she finished winding Seldras with a massive hug. “He's got down the basics though. Right, Dec?”

“Er...right. I think.”

“See? Not much to Skyhold.”

“Not if you're constantly on the move,” Seldras interjected. “Not all of us found every hiding spot in the castle on the first day.”

“Not on the first day, nah.”

Seldras squatted down on her haunches next to Declan. As seemed to be her norm, she looked sleep-deprived and stretched, but her smile reached her eyes. “If you're up for it,” she said, “there's something I'd really like to show you.”

Declan looked up at the two of them. Sera was twiddling her thumbs and rocking on her heels as if struggling not to spoil Seldras's surprise.

“What have you two been plotting?” Declan hauled himself up right and leaned on his staff. “I hear you and Sera like to get in trouble. Am I going to end up tripping on banana peels or falling into a mud hole?”

Seldras shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that. Come on. I promise you won't regret it.”

Declan cocked an eyebrow and followed. At first he thought they were going to the stables, but the structure was much too small to hold horses or harts. His ears twitched when he heard soft whining and snuffling.

“Surprise!” Seldras said. “I-I remembered back from when we were kids that you liked dogs and, well, a few weeks ago...” She stepped out of Declan's way and gestured to the heap of cloth bedding nestled against the haystacks. He let out a short gasp.

A large dog - a Marcher's shepherd judging from the thick fur and pointed ears - blinked up at him warily. A line of squirming pups nestled against her stomach. The dog craned her neck and sniffed at him before relaxing and laying her head against the blankets.

“Go on!” Sera whispered. “You can get closer.”

Declan knelt down in the straw. The mother didn't seem to mind. He folded his arms and watched them, unaware of the large smile on his face.

One of the pups wriggled its way out of the pile and sniffed along the ground. Unlike the others, its eyes were already half-open. It waddled towards the newcomer with staunch determination. Curious grey-blue eyes met Declan's.

“Hello,” Declan said.

The pup sneezed and fell back on its bottom. Sera stifled a laugh.

“He is going to get lost if he keeps wandering off,” said a monotone voice. Declan looked up to find a man in simple mage robes staring at him. Next to the mage was a tall, severe woman clad in light armor.

Declan quickly stood up and dusted the straw off of his pants. The puppy jolted in shock at the sudden movement and crawled back over to its mother. “Sorry about that. Wasn't thinking.”

The mage shook his head. “He does it regardless of who is present.” Below the black bangs, Declan saw the sunburst brand of the Chantry. He had only heard of the Tranquil from Rell. Even in his visits to Denerim, he had never seen one for himself until now.

“Oh, Haril...er, Declan, this is Alec,” Seldras said. “He's a scribe with the Inquisition. Also good with animals.”

Alec inclined his head, flashing a smile that almost resembled a grimace.

“And this is Cassandra Pentaghast.” She gestured to the woman. “She started the Inquisition.”

Cassandra let out a huff of a laugh. “The 'pleasure' was not mine alone.”

“Debatable.”

She reached out and shook Declan's hand. “It is good to finally meet you,” she said, words colored with an accent he couldn't place.

“You also,” he said, pretending he'd actually heard of her previously. Living alone for so long had done little to keep him informed on current events....or any major events, really.

Sera pointed at the oddball puppy, who was whining and nuzzling its mother's belly.“Second part of the surprise. You should take one when they're old enough. Name it Piddles!”

Declan did a double take. “What? But I...” He stopped himself before he could finish his sentence. _Can't even take care of myself._

“Buuut you need a friend who isn't one of us,” said Seldras. “Especially since one of us is constantly drowning in wartime politics.” She crossed her arms. “You don't have to. But it would be some extra company.”

He looked back at the pup. He had fought his way to his mother's belly only to be nudged away by one of his more aggressive siblings. He let out a pitiful yowl. Declan knelt in and picked him up, holding the shaking creature to his chest. He pawed at his scarf.

Declan bit his bottom lip and made space for the pup in the pile. The pup sniffed around and latched itself to a teat. The whimpering and shaking quickly died down.

Declan readjusted his scarf and swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat.

“I'll....I'll think about it.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

“This is ridiculous!”

“Finally, something we can agree on!”

Declan threw his hands in the air, too winded to retort. He had been arguing in circles with Seldras for over half an hour. The only thing gained from the conversation so far was a pounding headache. Their topic of debate? Him.

A month had passed since he'd set foot out of his cell. During that month he'd done little more than read and sleep, leaving his quarters only to see Solas or whoever else was available for his healing sessions. Recovery was slow, and it was no surprise given how long he'd gone without treatment in the Hinterlands. When Seldras announced she was traveling to the Western Approach with a small reconnaissance team, it should have come as no surprise to him when she refused his request to travel with her. Surprise or no, it didn't make the situation any less frustrating.

“I can fight!”

Seldras crossed her arms stubbornly. “It's nothing to do with your skill. You're sick.”

“I am recovering,” Declan growled, pacing the room like a caged animal.

“Exactly. Recovering. Not yet recovered.”

He pressed his palms against his aching temples. “Don't twist my words.”

“I'm not--” Seldras sighed and let her arms fall to her sides.

Declan leaned against his desk. A sharp ache pulsed in his right leg, as if his own body was mocking him. “I have done nothing but mooch off of you since I came here,” he muttered. “If I was meant to sit useless on my ass then I would have died at the Crossroads.”

“And if you leap into battle like this, you could still die!”

“Stop babying me. Stop feeling sorry for me! Let me fight!”

“I'm not and I don't!” Seldras snapped. “I need you alive. I can't see you die again - I need you _alive_!”

Declan growled and fisted his hands in his hair. “Stop it, for _fuck's_ sake,” he shouted. “Just stop! I'm not a child and you aren't Mother. Stop pretending to be!”

The second the words left his mouth he regretted it. Seldras looked as if she'd been slapped--then her eyes hardened.. Declan's stomach turned to ice as his own anger gave way to dread. He held up a shaking hand. “L-Look, sis. I didn't mean it. I – hey, no, no, wait!”

Seldras shook her head in disbelief, turned on her heel and left without another word. The door slammed behind her.

Declan sank down into his chair and put his head in his hands. Panic bubbled in his throat and his thoughts raced so fast he felt dizzy.

“Shit. Shit. _Shit!_ ”

He knew there would be more battles, more opportunities to prove himself....other times and places to fight against an actual enemy. He knew Seldras probably wasn't without fault in her argument, but neither was he.

He threw on his overcoat. A few confused botanists stared up at him from the gardens as he left his quarters. Seldras was nowhere in sight.Hands shaking, he pulled his scarf closer to his chin and sought out the only other person who came to mind.

\- - -

 

“And then she left.”

Declan sipped slowly from his mug of spindleweed tea. Solas sat across from him in his favorite chair, a dusty stack of tomes in his lap.

“She didn't deserve that,” he continued. “Dunno what possessed me to say that to her.”

Solas folded his hands on the book stack. “Fear? Anxiety? Exhaustion? Misdirected frustration?”

“Bad excuses.”

“If you are having trouble finding her, she frequents the tavern.”

“No, I know. It's just...” He examined the leaf dregs at the bottom of his cup and sighed.

“You feel that a simple apology does not make up for what was said?”

“Yeah...something like that.”

Solas set aside his books and offered to take Declan's cup. Declan mumbled a thanks and leaned back on the couch, rubbing his temples.

“If you came to me seeking advice,” Solas said, “there is none I can give that you haven't thought of yourself.”

“You're right. First chance I get, I'm taking a caravan to the Anderfels.”

“Ah, of course. I hear the weather there is quite lovely this time of year.”

Declan pursed his lips. Solas tilted his head innocently.

“You're no help. I'm leaving.”

“Do not forget to pack herbal remedies for sunburn.”

“Oh shut up,” grumbled Declan. Solas let out a cough that sounded a lot like a suppressed chuckle.

Declan hobbled to the door of the rotunda. He stood there for almost a minute before turning his head and mumbling, “Thank you.”

\- - -

 

The din of the tavern wasn't nearly as bad as Declan expected it to be. The massive Qunari who others called “the Iron Bull” was absent, as was his crew. Declan assumed they would be leaving for the Western Approach with Seldras tomorrow. He wondered if either Seldras or Sera were even still awake, considering they probably had to leave at sunrise. A trip from the Frostbacks to the Western Approach would take weeks, if not an entire month. How the Inquisition got anything done in time was beyond him.

Sera's door was shut, but he could hear metallic clattering on the other side. He gave the door a soft knock.

“Shite!” came a hushed curse from Sera. “Whozat?!”

“It's Declan.”

“Oh, fwoo! Hold up.” A series of locks rattled on the door before it finally swung open. Sera tossed something off behind her couch. “If anyone asks, I didn't steal Dagna's screwdriver.”

Declan cocked an eyebrow.

“Don't worry, ain't the hinges on your door.”

“Well...that's a relief.” He wasn't quite sure he believed her, given his earlier argument with Seldras. “Have you seen my sister?”

“What? Oh, yeah, yeah. Been here most of the day. Went off to do papers and start packing.” Sera flopped back onto the couch and began rummaging through her collection of playing cards.

“Do you know where she is?”

She didn’t look up. “War room, or her room. I don't follow her when she does papers. Boring.”

Declan scratched at the scars not covered by his eyepatch, ignoring the sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Did she, uhm...seem...weird, maybe?”

“She's always weird. Like you're being right now.” Sera scowled. “Hold it, is she doin' that thing again where she goes 'round asking people what present she should get me?”

He relaxed. If Sera knew anything about their fight, she was doing a good job of hiding it. “No, no, at least I don't think so.”

“Oh thank Andraste,” Sera sighed, “cos I'm fresh outta gift ideas. Wait. Do you know if she likes snowball fights?”

“She did when we were kids.”

Sera's face broke into a wide grin. “Ohoho, yes! I've got a present for her! Thanks, you!”

He couldn't help but smile back. “No problem. See you around.”

\- - -

 

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Declan found himself staring at a door. This time, it was the door to Seldras's room. He fidgeted with the stray fibers on the edges of his eyepatch. He could come back tomorrow, before she left, or....

_No. No more running._

He held his breath and knocked.

“I already signed those, Lady Montilyet,” called Seldras. Her voice sounded strained, tired.

“It- It's Haril. I mean, er...Declan.”

“Oh. Come in, then.”

The increase in unorganized clutter since he'd last visited her room was notable. Seldras sat on the floor with her back to him, sorting through myriad items scattered on the floor. Her quarry consisted of a smoking pipe, messily-labeled potions and tonics, dried elfroot, a tattered journal, and numerous sticks, rocks, and warped pieces of metal.

“Headed for the Western Approach?” he asked. He already knew, of course. He'd been thinking about it all day, but he knew no other way to break the uneasy silence.

“Mm,” she grunted.

He swallowed and inhaled deeply. Before the panic could take further hold, he spoke. “Sel, I'm really sorry about what I said earlier.”

Seldras stopped sorting the items and fell still. She averted her gaze to the low light of the fireplace.

He continued in a stuttering stream of words, ignoring his increasing nausea. “I'm not doing well and I know I'm not, and I hate it. B-but I took it out on you of all people and it wasn't fair of me. You t-took me in. I don't even know what you've been through all these years and I just....” He threw his hands in the air. Trying to blink away the tears proved useless. “I just said all of that....shit. It's n-not your fault. _None_ of it. Not me, not the clan, not...mom...not anyone else. I didn't, I didn't mean to-”

Before he knew that she was on her feet, Seldras had him locked in a tight hug.

“Shut the fuck up,” she grunted huskily. “Of course I forgive you.”

Declan squeezed her back so tightly that she had to wriggle out from under his arms. She ran a hand through her disheveled hair and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “Can you forgive me for being an ass?”

Declan laughed hoarsely. The dizziness was still there, but the nausea was slowly leaving him. “Look, you weren't an ass.”

She crossed her arms. “Oh nah, I was at least a little bit of an ass.” She grinned up at him and sniffled. “So, forgive me?”

He pretended to think. “Eh....why not?”

“Look...fighting blows. But we're gonna do it. Gotta make up for lost sibling bonding, right?” Seldras gave him another playful shove on the shoulder and went back to her nick-knack pile. She picked up the pipe and searched around until she found a small satchel of dry herbs. “You smoke?” she asked.

“Never cared for it. What is that, elfroot?”

“And spindleweed. Been taking it since the bear accident. Fucked up my back. Keeper Deshanna tried to make me drink elfroot tea. Couldn't stomach it.”

“Because it tastes like-”

“Soggy bark, yeah.” She found a match and toked on the pipe until it was safely lit. The acrid smell of burning herbs filled the room. She coughed and gestured at an unopened bottle on the bookshelf. “Good stuff if you want some,” she croaked.

“Beer? Don't you have to get up early tomorrow?”

“Mythal'enaste, it's grape juice, loser.”

He struggled to open the bottle. After searching around for a cup, Seldras shook her head and made a drinking motion. “It's a small bottle. Have it.”

Declan sat down on the floor across from her and raised the bottle awkwardly. “To...uhm....”

“To being asses together.” Seldras grinned and raised her pipe up.

He snorted and shook his head with a smile. “To being asses together.”

\- - -

 

Declan was up at the crack of dawn to watch them leave – Seldras and her entourage, a group of Inquisition soldiers and a few rag-tag characters he barely knew. He recognized Sera, the “Iron Bull” with a few of his mercenaries, and a well-groomed man with an impressive mustache who he'd never seen before. Seldras caught his eye as he watched from the battlements and gave him a goofy mock salute. He replicated the gesture with a crooked smile and mouthed “loser.” She grinned back before being addressed by a templar in heavy plate and Fereldan furs.

He felt a heaviness in his chest watching his sister, still short and unimposing after all these years, sit on her horse with the same slouched posture their mother used to yell at her for. She donned a helm that sat on her head crooked, gave a few orders to the templar, then galloped off with her party in tow.

He stared at his feet. It was then that he felt what Seldras must have felt the morning before, when she vehemently refused his aid.

Fear that he would lose the last of his family.

Declan stiffened his jaw and glanced at the horizon. It was still early, but the sun was already well over the horizon.. Voices echoed through the corridors. Skyhold came alive. He nestled his chin against his scarf and glanced over his shoulder past the standards adorning the main hall. Only the servants were present, doing last minute cleaning and setting the tables. A good time to make for the rotunda before place became overwhelmingly busy.

To his surprise and relief Solas was already awake. He stood at his desk, turning a worn, glowing rune over in his hand and jotting down notes. He was so engulfed his work that he looked shocked when Declan knocked on the side of the wall.

“Am I interrupting?” asked Declan.

Solas put away his quill and carefully set down the rune. “No, but I am surprised to see you awake so early.”

“Had to see Sel off.”

“Not leaving for the Anderfels after all?”

Declan crossed his arms and said in a deadpan tone, “I'm already there and this a projection from the Fade.”

“That is not how the Fade works.”

“Joking.” Declan fiddled with his scarf. “But, ah, jokes aside....could you, y'know....teach me?”

“Teach you how the Fade works?” Solas countered with a wry grin.

“No.” Declan walked over to his desk and stared at Solas's stack of books, untouched since yesterday. He met Solas's eyes. “Teach me to fight.”

Solas folded his hands behind his back. “Ah.”

“Ah?”

“I suspected you might ask,” he sighed.

Declan scratched at his face nervously. “...And?”

“And...firstly, do not agitate your wounds. Yes, I know it is there on your face and you must touch it, but for your sake, please don't. And secondly, given the amount of time I assume we will have to pass while waiting for news from the Western Approach....yes. I will teach you.”

“You – wait, you will?”

“Yes. But – and please do not give me that face – under one condition. Do not push yourself, physically or mentally. You are still recovering. I will not endanger your health.”

Declan deflated before he could muster up enough frustration to retort. “Yes, _hahren_ ,” he mumbled.

“I changed my mind. There are two conditions. Never call me _hahren_ again.”

For a moment Declan thought Solas was joking, but his face showed no amusement. “Er....sorry. So I call you...?”

“Please call me Solas, as you have thus far. We are on equal footing. I am not your superior.”

For some reason, the statement brought Declan a great deal of comfort. “Thank you, Solas.”

“You are welcome. Let us begin-”

Declan's face lit up.

“-tomorrow, after you get some sleep.”

“....Dammit.”

 


End file.
